


but he was still fighting.

by Cat (ActualBuckyBarnes)



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aha, And It's Still Not Cis, Brief Cameos, F/M, God I'm So Used To The Wattpad Tagging System, If You Count Tweets As Cameos, Markiplier - Freeform, Not Relationship-Centric, This Feels Like FREEDOM, This Is Also The Only Straight Thing I've Written, This Is Honestly Just Me Projecting, Trans Male Character, Woops, You're Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10025732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualBuckyBarnes/pseuds/Cat
Summary: Mark was a guy.He really, really was.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I will warn you that this does contain some pretty heavy topics, though it's really only rated M for language. TWs for this story include: body dysphoria, suicidal ideation, transphobia, homophobia, and some food mention. Please take these into consideration, I do not want anybody reading potentially triggering content for them. :)

Mark was a guy.

He really, really was.

He had regrets, just like any other guy.

His first was not telling his dad he _was_ a guy.

His dad's last words, thank God, didn't include Mark's real name. Well, Mark supposed, it didn't feel real to him. Not at all. Macy was too... frilly. It came with pink miniskirts and long, wavy brown hair, and cute boys flirting with a 'her' who didn't want binders or hormone treatment.

Mark didn't think he was any of that.

It felt like he was fighting a war. With himself, with the world, with everybody who was supposed to be on his side.

 

* * *

 

Mark browsed the men's section. His anxiety made his hands tremble and his breath stutter. Every time he looked at the boxers, his legs felt like jell-o and he wanted to evaporate. Right then and there.

"Hey, Macy!" Called a voice that made Mark want to punch himself in the face. He wasn't doing anything wrong--just shopping in the... wrong part of the store.  _Okay_ , so  _maybe_ he was doing something "wrong", but it shouldn't have been wrong.

"You know, you don't have to shop for your boyfriend, he can do that just fine," Heather said, "Who're you dating, anyway?"

"None of your fucking business," Mark growled, throwing a pair of boxers into his shopping cart.

"Y'know, I'm sure your tits would be a lot bigger if you didn't insist on wearing tight sports bras all the time," Heather suggested, "And there's no reason to be rude."

"There's no reason to stick your head so far up your ass, either," Mark said coolly, "Yet you seem to do that just fine."

"You haven't answered my question. Who're you dating?" Heather had a malicious grin on her face.

"You wouldn't know him. He's from a different school," Mark brushed it off.

"I know a lot of people. Try me."

 _Shit_.

"Um... Uh--"

"Did you forget your own boyfriend's name?" Heather simpered, "Wow, that's awful whorish of you."

"N-no! He's--he's--"

"Listen, Macy, I get it," Heather placed her hand on Mark's shoulder.

"Fine! They're... for me," Mark admitted, "Happy?"

"Very," Heather smirked, "Lesbo."

"What?" Mark gaped.

"This is gonna make everybody else laugh their _asses_ off," Heather giggled, pulling out her flip phone.

 

* * *

 

Mark remembered the first day he went to get the shot. He was never afraid of needles, though the doctor's made him a bit apprehensive. The memories of school were still fresh, a wound that had never really gotten the chance to heal.

The receptionist held Mark in a steely gaze. Mark hated every minute of sitting awkwardly in the waiting room, curious teenagers staring at him.

He felt ludicrous, sitting there in a hoodie and jeans for everybody to stare at. He'd buzzed his hair, but he still looked like a girl. He still felt like a monkey in a zoo, even if nobody really cared why he was there.

His skin felt like it was on fire.

Then he went into the doctor's office. In and out in a minute, it was incomprehensibly nerve-wracking, even though it was so short.

It was just like any other shot. Mark knew what the placebo affect was--he wasn't an idiot--but he could've sworn his voice was deeper just checking out of the doctor's office.

 

* * *

 

Mark's voice was getting deeper. It definitely was. His face was getting squarer and his voice was getting deeper and he was starting to _grow facial hair_ and he was even starting to pass.

It was like winning the lottery.

It felt like he'd won whatever monumental war he was fighting.

But then he got sucked right back in.

 

* * *

 

A few years later, Mark was with his girlfriend. He never really made an effort to hide his binders or pads or tampons when she came over, though it took her a few months to figure it out.

"What are these? Oh my God, you're cheating on me--"

"No! No, they aren't another girl's," Mark rushed to say, "They're mine."

It should've been that easy to say it to his dad. But his girlfriend made him feel comfortable--until, that is, she chucked a box of pads at his face.

"You're _disgusting_! You're probably just a lesbian who doesn't want to admit it," She snarled.

"What? No, I'm--"

"You don't know what you are, _dyke._ And I hate to break it to you--I'm straight. This is over." She stormed out, leaving Mark in a state of shock.

Then, the questions fell, hard and fast.

 _Was he really a guy? Did he really want to do... all this? Whatever_ this _even was? The hormone therapy? The binders?_

Mark felt like he was in the middle of the rapids. Water rushed past him, tumultuous and cold.

It felt like he wasn't fooling himself, any more; he'd never win. The epiphany settled bitter in his chest like bile.

That night, Mark spent a long time staring at the knives in the kitchen and thinking about the future.

 

* * *

 

After that, Mark got the message loud and clear. Mark's identity was not welcome.

He put the pads at the back of the cabinet under the sink. He put his binders at the bottom of his drawer. He learned to be brash and loud, enough so that people didn't question anything.

Mark got really sick. He went back home a few times, to the two people who knew. Tom, and his mother. They still loved him, but sometimes, Mark thought they were just pretending. Like when his mom would offer him a dress, or a skirt, or his brother would accidentally call him Macy, or when they would ask too many questions. He knew they did, _he knew they did_ , but there was something about finding refuge only in your family dogs that doesn't sit well in your chest.

But Mark made it. Barely.

It sure does hurt when your home doesn't feel quite like home any more.

 

* * *

 

Mark finally had a home. It was in LA, with his friends. He was saving up for top surgery (six _thousand_ dollars?! Who the fuck has that kind of money?!) and trying to keep it all a secret at the same time.

Sure, it meant hungry nights. But it would be worth it to finally fit in his body.

His audience hadn't noticed, at least. Sure, some of them would comment on Mark's baby face, or even a few that caught how feminine his eyes looked, but Mark could shrug those off. Nobody saw a binder strap peeking through, nobody saw Mark's attempts at contouring his Adam's Apple to make it look bigger (that meant it was working).

At the same time, it felt like Mark was lying. For as well as he was presenting, he also couldn't tell his stories exactly the way they were written.

When Mark managed to save up enough for the surgery, it felt like he'd won a war.

Little did he know, he was still fighting.

 

* * *

 

Then it was years later. Mark was surrounded by friends and the weight of coming out dragged his shoulders down.

Every time he tried to say it, the words stuck to his mouth like the foul aftertaste of coffee.

Every time he tried to say those tiny, seemingly insignificant words, they refused to travel out of his mouth.

Two words--two syllables. Seven letters. Just one little "I'm trans", and Mark would finally know. He'd know whether they would accept him or reject him.

The question that stood in the way like a brick wall was, "Is it better to not know?"

Was it better to live uncomfortably, hiding a secret, but with friends who love you, or to be living a whole truth, all alone?

They were at dinner when Mark decided he'd do it. He would tell them. He was trying _so hard_ to get the words out of his mouth. Usually they'd do it on command. He'd said some... questionable things in the past. Why were these words any harder?

"Mark, are you okay? You haven't touched your chicken," Kathryn pointed out.

"Uh... yeah... I... er... I've been meaning to tell you guys something," Mark couldn't look any of them in the eyes, "I... I've been keeping it from you guys for a long time and... I'd rather be hated for something I am than loved for what I'm not. I'm trans."

Silence fell across the table. _Here it comes_ , Mark thought.

"What name would you like us to use?" Ethan asked softly.

"Mark is... Mark is fine. I identify as a guy, it's--I was born as a girl." Mark finally got the words out, and his chest was tight with anticipation, "And it felt like I was lying, especially to you, Tyler--"

"Just because I've been your friend longer doesn't mean you could lie to me more than the others. And you haven't been lying. Thank you for telling us," Tyler said, "We love you, and we support you."

Those were _not_ the words Mark's psyche was preparing him for. Of course, there was still the chance that Amy or Kathryn would explode on him--

"Buttercup, are you okay?" Amy asked, "You look kinda pale."

"I'm fine... I'm fine," Mark sighed, "I was just expecting... a more negative reaction, I guess. I'm not used to things going well when I come out."

"Oh." It was comedic, really, the way it echoed around the table in perfect unison.

"I'm sorry." Amy wrapped her arms around Mark, "You know we'd never hate you, right?"

Mark nodded.

"Good," Amy grinned, "Now, eat your chicken. It's getting cold."

Mark laughed, and the table returned to how it was before. Mark felt free--really, really free--for the first time in a long time.

 

* * *

 

Mark didn't want to hide from his audience. Hiding felt like lying to them.

Unlike the team, Mark knew that it was better soon than later with the audience. There was bound to be someone who didn't like him any more because of it, but Mark thought that the good outweighed the bad.

Mark would do it like he always did--loud and brash and unapologetic. He stumbled into frame, screeching, "Hey y'all, look at my top scars! I'm a manly-ass trans guy and--oh boy, this video has already taken a lot out of me and it's only been five seconds."

Mark calmed down a bit, taking a breath. Maybe loud and brash and unapologetic was a bit _too much_.

"Let me start over, I guess. Uh... my name is Mark, but that wasn't the one I was born with," Mark said, "But it's the name I use now. I suppose with this video, I just wanted to finally tell you guys the whole truth. And I want to thank everybody who will stick with me through this. As for those who don't--well, good riddance. I don't want bigotry in my community anyway.

"I can't do this without a shirt on," Mark mumbled, grabbing his t-shirt from where he'd thrown it on the ground in the recording studio and popping back into frame.

"I was born a girl," Mark said, "But I've never _felt_ like one. And, though it took me a while to figure it out, now I finally feel comfortable in my skin. Of course, I still have bad days where I can't get past how curvy my hips still are, or where I second-guess myself, but I finally feel like I can express that. From when I was little, the only thing I'd ever wanted to do was to pass. To be seen as a guy. But, now that I am, it feels like I'm living a lie. I _need_ people to know that I'm trans. I'm still Mark, though. It just--it felt like I was lying to you guys. And now I'm finally free to be me.

"I want to end this video saying one thing. Even if you don't feel like it now, one day you'll find a group of people who love you for you," Mark took another deep breath, "And not for the color of your skin, or the people you love, or what parts you have. And when you do, you'll call them home. I've found my home.

"I'll upload a Subnautica video later, so with that; I'll see you in the next video. Buh bye!"

 

* * *

 

Playing the video for the team felt like coming out a second time.

"Mark, buttercup," Amy grinned, "This is so sweet." She pecked him on the cheek.

"Thank you," Mark blushed back. Ethan grinned over at him, wiping tears from his eyes.

"You're such a softy," Tyler teased.

"Says you," Ethan teased back to the man who was rubbing tears from his own eyes. Kathryn interjected with, "Boys, be nice."

"It's already uploaded," Mark smiled, "So far, the comments have been pretty nice. I mean, there are a few people who have unsubbed, but I said I didn't want them in the community anyway, and I meant it."

"Good." Amy rubbed Mark's knuckles with her thumb, their hands intertwined.

The team went on with their day, editing the other video and uploading it.

Mark felt happy. It buzzed through him like lightning. He couldn't stop grinning.

He didn't feel like he was fighting any more.

But somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew otherwise.

He'd never be done fighting.

 

* * *

 

Sure enough, Mark woke up the next day and was soon filled with a foreboding feeling. It didn't really hit until after the unusually-subdued breakfast, when Mark tried to look at his stats on the YouTube channel.

"I just want to check on the comments for today's videos--"

"Or, we could go to the park," Amy suggested, "Let Chica run around?"

"No, I think I'm going to look at the comments from today's videos," Mark snapped, grabbing his phone and opening the Creator Studio app.

_omg i cant beleive he has a pussy like all this time_

_he's a she???_

_omfg special snowflake alert_

_i cant belive she fucked up her chest like bruh just b glad u've got tits_

Comments like these filled the page, right alongside less articulate gems. Mostly, they were just abbreviations and slurs.

"Oh..." Mark could see why Amy was trying to keep him away from the comments.

"They're all wrong," Amy immediately said, "You're not ugly, you're not worthless."

"Oh goodness, he looked in the comments, didn't he?" Kathryn sighed. Mark stared blankly at his phone.

_dude do u kno how much i'd want to fuck a trans guy like_

_idk i've seen mark wearing dresses & makeup how do we kno he/she isn't faking???_

_trans people b like: "les play dress-up!". she'll never b a real guy, she just pretendin._

Mark felt his heart race as he numbly scrolled through the comments.

"Yeah, I'm taking this away," Ethan decided, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing Mark's phone out of his hands.

"But--"

"Nope," Amy wrapped Mark in a hug, "It's not good to read so much negativity about yourself."

"I'm fine," Mark brushed it off, returning Amy's hug.

"You're not," Tyler noticed, "Mark, you're shaking."

Amy rubbed Mark's back and shushed him. He let out a few broken sobs, clinging to his girlfriend like she was a lifeline.

"Please don't think any of those things about yourself," Amy pleaded, "You're not an object, buttercup. You're a human."

"Maybe... maybe take the day off?" Ethan suggested, "Pet your dog. Eat something junky."

Mark nodded. "You're probably right. I just--I can't do that. I can't see that much negativity every time I show my face on the internet when my job _is_ the internet."

"It'll be okay," Amy reassured, "This'll die down and you'll be fine."

Mark just stood there, letting Amy hold him. She ran her fingers through Mark's hair, and Mark felt the tension leave his shoulders.

"And anyway, you haven't seen the people who've come out in support of you!" Ethan exclaimed, "C'mon, have a gander."

Ethan had pulled up Mark's gallery, which had a lot of new screenshots on it.

It was everybody who'd said they'd support him.

 **@Jack_Septic_Eye** : I completely, 100% support @markiplier 's decision to come out. It's a brave thing to do, and something I will forever admire in him.

 **@pewdiepie** : ****@markiplier is still Mark to me. It doesn't matter if he's got a dick or not. He is, and always will be, my friend.

 **@GodHatesMiles** : @markiplier hmu broseph ur an angel

It was so starkly different from the comments. It made Mark think that this was all worth it. Everything about it was worth it.

 **@MatPatGT** : My utmost respect goes out to @markiplier who, yesterday, publicly came out. That takes some serious guts.

 **@tyleroakley** : bABES!!! yesterday,   @markiplier came out!! shower him in love and affection!!!

Mark grinned down at his phone.

"You haven't even seen our posts yet," Ethan pouted.

Mark chuckled, swiping left to see Ethan, Amy, Tyler, and Kathryn's tweets.

 **@crankgameplays** : I am Mark's friend, no matter what. And he is my friend, one of my best friends, and nothing between his legs is going to change that.

 **@Apocalypto_12** : Love yourself, no matter how you identify. It doesn't matter to me, and it shouldn't matter to everybody else.

 **@Apocalypto_12** : [in reply to @Apocalypto_12] Life can get in the way of you. Your dreams, your fears, your ambitions. Tell life it can fuck right off.

 **@Apocalypto_12** : [in reply to @Apocalypto_12] Learn about yourself. Grow.  
Yes, this is about Mark. #smilealways

Mark could barely see Amy or Kathryn's tweets through his tears.

It was so strange, really, that he was so moved by 140 characters (or, in Tyler's case, a few groups of under-140 characters). Just a few words on a screen could make him bawl like a small child.

Chica was sniffing at his ankles as Amy wrapped him in another hug.

"You guys are too good to me," Mark sniffled into Amy's shoulder.

"You deserve it," Amy reassured. Mark shook his head.

No matter what they said, Mark knew that they were so much better than him.

Amy rolled her eyes, rubbing the hairs at the nape of Mark's neck.

 

* * *

 

It was a bad day.

Mark woke up, feeling something sticky between his legs. It took him about three seconds to remember he had a vagina, at which point it sunk in.

"I thought T was supposed to get _rid_ of this shit," Mark groaned, getting out of bed, "'ll have to talk to my doc about upping my dosage." Amy, who'd been laying next to him, blinked sleepily.

"Period?" She asked. Mark nodded, ducking into the bathroom for a few minutes.

"Sorry, I'll clean it up!" Mark told Amy.

"No, no, I've got it," Amy insisted. It wasn't like Mark could argue, he was kind of stuck on the toilet for a little while. Amy threw him a change of clothes.

"Go record, and don't forget to tell me if you need anything," Amy picked up the bedsheets, "I'm gonna go wash these."

Amy left, and Mark stood around. He looked at his bloodstained boxers, and a strange feeling hit him.

He walked downstairs, not feeling quite like himself. He sat down and played some games, but he felt a bit more subdued. Maybe he'd use some archived videos instead.

"Feelin' okay?" Amy inquired.

"What if I'm not a guy?" Mark asked, "What if I'm just a girl? What if I've been a girl this whole time and I'm just masquerading as a guy? What if--"

"Mark," Amy frowned, "You can't really think that, can you?"

"What if my real name _is_ Macy?" Mark fretted, "What if I'm just a lesbian who's too afraid to admit it--"

"Mark, listen to me," Amy instructed, "You are not a single one of those things, no matter what anybody tells you--"

"But what if they're _right_?" Mark asked, "What if--"

"You can't go around asking all those questions," Ethan interrupted, "You're gonna give yourself an aneurysm."

They really needed to put a bell on that kid.

Mark sighed. "I just--"

"Mark, you're a real guy," Amy promised, "Unless you decide to identify another way."

"I guess," Mark gave in, "But it feels _weird_. I mean, I've got a vagina, and it's currently bleeding."

Ethan muttered a ' _gross_ ' under his breath. Amy smacked his arm.

"And it's never going to go away," Mark said, "I'm never going to be a real guy, with a dick."

"Real guys don't have to have dicks," Ethan shrugged, "Wanna go play a game? Get your mind off everything for a while?"

Mark nodded, letting himself get lead to the gaming station in their house.

"Let's play GTA," Ethan said excitedly.

"Okay," Mark nodded. He wasn't really in the mood to make choices. They played for a while, but there was something that wasn't quite sitting right in Mark's chest.

"Okay, what's up?" Ethan asked, after thirty minutes of playing, "You haven't said a single thing this whole time."

"I'm not really in the mood to," Mark shrugged, "I just feel kinda like shit."

"What's wrong?" Ethan asked.

"Imagine," Mark took a breath, "For the first twenty-two years of your life, you look down and see boobs. No matter what you put on them, ace bandages, binders, they're always there. Now imagine that when you were twenty-three, you'd spent four years saving up six thousand dollars for top surgery. You finally feel like yourself. But then you look down and _oops_! There's a vagina there! And there's no way to get rid of it without major surgery and you can't breathe sometimes because it feels so wrong and when you can't breathe it reminds you of when you had to wear ace bandages on your chest and when kids would corner you and try to take them off and--"

Mark suddenly realized he was panicking. Tears pricked at his eyes and his chest heaved.

"Hey, hey, you're okay," Ethan soothed, "You're safe. Nothing's going to happen to you, c'mere--" Ethan took the controller out of Mark's hand and brought the older man into a hug.

"Sorry, I've been crying so much lately," Mark apologized.

"Nah, dude, it's manly as hell to cry," Ethan smiled. Mark seemed so small, in that moment, just pressed up against Ethan's chest.

"And you know what's frustrating?" Mark asked after a few seconds, "I haven't seen a _single_ character in a game who reminds me of me."

"I'm sure if you looked hard enough you'd find one--"

"I _have_ looked!" Mark exclaimed, exploding as suddenly as he'd collapsed, "I've looked for _hours_. _Days_. I've been looking since I figured out I _was_ trans. Every trans character I've found that has a face is completely white, Ethan. Every trans character I've found has had a storyline that revolves completely around them being trans, Ethan. None of the trans characters have gone of great adventures, or fought evil bad guys--hell, half the time they _are_ the bad guys! Do you know what it feels like to fight someone who reminds you of you? Stupid question, don't answer that. But you can find cis, straight, white guys in _everything_ , Ethan. And sure, some people have written stories that deviate from one of those, but never two or three!"

Ethan's face fell.

"Do you know what that _feels_ like?" Mark implored.

Ethan shook his head meekly.

"I don't need a trans simulator to tell me about dysphoria," Mark grumbled, suddenly quiet again, "I know about dysphoria. I need a story about a trans heroine who fights her way through a kingdom full of blood-thirsty werewolves. I don't _need_ a story about a trans character being rejected by someone they love. I know that exact pain. And they never do quite as well as I would have, explaining just the way it hurts. I need a story about a guy who was born a girl and then chosen to go on an epic quest. I used to hope and dream that maybe, just _fucking_ maybe, one day I'd find this hidden gem about a trans character going through struggles that seem far away from the real world, instead of the ones that mirror what I face every day."

Ethan was silent for a few more beats. Then he said, "You want a trans character in a story?"

" _That's_ what you gleaned from all this? Great--"

"No. If you want a trans character, write one," Ethan explained, "If you could do a better job describing exactly what it's like to bind, _do it_. If you could explain something in a way nobody else has had the guts to do, then do it. I know you _can_."

"But, I'm just a guy--"

"So is Scott Cawthon, Mark," Ethan pointed out, "So is every designer of every game ever. They're all just _guys_. What's frustrating, though, is that they're all just straight, white guys. Maybe you can change that."

"But there's the other problem: nobody's interested in playing a game about a trans character. You remember MatPat's video from 2014? The one about video-games being anti-LGBT?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Nothing has changed," Mark sighed, "Nobody wants to play a video game where the main character is trans."

"Then don't make it about the character being trans!" Ethan exclaimed, "Write a story about a macho man, fighting to save his family, who carries around an old picture of two adults and a baby girl. Everybody thinks it's his sister, but later it's revealed that it's him, only younger."

"But--"

"And who says people don't want to hear about struggles? Just this past year, That Dragon, Cancer, won a Streamy!"

Mark looked defeated. "But what if I do it wrong?"

"There's no wrong way to do art, Mark," Ethan rolled his eyes, "Just get out there, start writing. Learn to code. What's stopping you?"

"Time, money--"

"You said you wanted to learn another language. Learn Python. There are classes for free online, I'm sure you could find them," Ethan pointed out.

"Shut up," Mark grumbled, "'m too tired, now."

"Well, I didn't expect you to start making one right away, now did I?"

"I just want some sleep, let me be," Mark complained, laying down.

"Sleep sitting up!" Amy called from the kitchen.

"Dammit, you're right," Mark called back to Amy, sitting up and dozing off.

 

* * *

 

Mark never stopped fighting. It wasn't a war to be won, but it wasn't nearly as bitter for Mark now. There was no way for Mark to stop seeing hate comments on his videos, there was no way for Mark to make his body completely _his_.

But he'd say he'd gotten pretty damn close.

The game had hit the shelves in 2021. It was an immediate hit (mostly due to Mark's large audience), but it seemed to be catching on in communities not linked to Mark's. Of course, there was also a large group dedicated to banning the game, but Mark kept an open mind regarding their complaints. (Which were mostly about the violence, to cover up their transphobia, but Mark quickly directed them to GTA, which they were not trying to ban.)

And of course, there would be bad days. Of course, there would be days where he'd roll out of bed and see nothing but where his hair used to fall on his shoulders, or the comments when people found out his dead name was Macy.

But he learned and grew and evolved.

Mark felt more and more comfortable in his own skin as time went on, and though everybody slipped up once and a while, they all made Mark feel like he was loved.

Mark's words caught up to him. Not in the way that bad things do, but in the way good things come to settle in your chest and fill your lungs with sunshine.

_One day you'll find a group of people who love you for you--_

_And when you do, you'll call them home._

_I've found my home._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! I appreciate every comment and kudos, and I hope to see y'all around here sometime soon!


End file.
